“Yes, Jenn doesn’t like talking about it.”
“I remember how one day in the aftermath, the cleanup crews just gave some of the things they recovered to my mom for safekeeping. The guys put it all in cardboard boxes, and my mom kept it until Jennifer’s grandmother came for them.”
“Do you remember what things?”
“Mementos, like collectable spoons, commemorative coins, souvenirs, like a statue of liberty, a jackknife, keepsakes, trinkets, a jewelry box.”
“I see. And they all went to Jenn’s grandma?”
“Yes,” Frances said. “I’m sorry I couldn’t be more helpful.”
“You were very helpful, Frances. If you think of anything else, please call.”
“I will, Greg, and I’m praying Jennifer will be reunited with her family. She’s been through so, so much.”
Greg sat for a long moment, processing Frances Penney’s call and looking at the chime, remembering Jake saying it had arrived at the door, like a delivery. How when Jenn started it, it made her smile then made her cry and she put it away.
She practically hid it. Why? Too many sad memories? But why did she order it? Or who would send it?
Greg was at a loss and he was exhausted. He needed sleep. He drank a glass of cold water and started for the stairs and bed when his phone vibrated.
It was a text from Bob Lugoski, a reporter with the Plain Dealer in Cleveland.
How the media got Greg’s number, he didn’t know.
“Mr. Griffin, have police told you about the latest developments in your wife’s case?”
Greg thought then responded.
“Sellwin, the school board guy? No, but it’s on the Buffalo news.”
“No. Trying to confirm rumors of an arrest and crime scene.”
Greg froze.
Arrest and crime scene?
Eighty-Two
Clarence, New York
The sun was rising when Storemer returned to the Barracks from East Amherst.
He went to the bathroom, washed out the dirt under his nails, patted his face with cold water, then squinted at his reflection in the mirror.
What happened? I was home reading Marcus Aurelius with a glass of chardonnay. What am I doing?
What Storemer just did near the golf course was wrong on so many levels. But he was following his client’s wishes, working on a solid defense, and doubling his bill.
* * *
The aroma of fresh coffee filled the hall as Storemer entered the meeting room with Kozak and Carillo.
All parties had insisted on working through the night if necessary.
Before they’d taken their seats, Carillo glared at Storemer.
“What were you doing in East Amherst, counselor?”
The lawyer stared back before accepting the fact he’d been followed.
“Did Volk tell you what he did to Jennifer Griffin?”
Storemer said nothing.
“Did he put her in the ground near the golf course? Because we’re going to seal and search the area and you’re looking like an accessory.”
Storemer held up his palms.
“My client wishes to have any consideration of charges against him dismissed because we have evidence that will remove him as a suspect.”
Kozak and Carillo traded glances as Storemer withdrew his laptop from his briefcase.
“And how will that happen?” Kozak asked.
“First, you must agree to dismiss any pending charges.”
“The evidence we showed you is irrefutable,” Kozak said.
“Mr. Volk committed no violent crimes,” Storemer said. “What you have is circumstantial. The best you can do right now is what? Video voyeurism or unlawful surveillance? My client wants a guarantee from the DA there will be no charges, none of any kind, in exchange for his cooperation.”
“Where’s Jennifer Griffin?” Carillo said.
“What I have here will help you find her.” Storemer took in a deep breath and let it out. “Before I show you, may I please get some coffee?”
Eighty-Three
Buffalo, New York, Trailside Grove
Greg’s calls, texts, and emails to Kozak and Carillo went unanswered.
Arrest and a crime scene?
Through the night, he’d tried reaching the investigators, his sleep coming in fits and starts. He woke and checked the Cleveland Plain Dealer’s site for reports of an arrest and crime scene, finding nothing, and seeing no responses from Kozak and Carillo.
Greg rose just before dawn, made coffee, and took a hot shower.
By the time he dressed and went down to the kitchen, he’d received a new text from Julie Nash, with the Associated Press in New York.
May I speak with you over the phone, Mr. Griffin?
Even though he knew, he texted back: About what?
A possible break in your wife’s case.
What break?
A crime scene, possibly in Pennsylvania. It’s unconfirmed. That’s all I have. Hoping you know more.
Fingers squeezing his phone, he wanted to question the reporter, wanted her to tell him what she knew about Pennsylvania.
But a part of him didn’t want to know.
If I don’t know she’s dead, then for me, she’s still alive.
He’d been through this before.
I can’t comment. I don’t know anything.
Greg’s heart beat faster, his fear rising.
A crime scene in Pennsylvania. An arrest. The implications.
Something was happening; the press always knew.
Greg heard Jake upstairs, getting up, going to the bathroom as he continued checking online for reports. Here was an item posted fifteen minutes earlier on Twitter by a TV news station in Erie, Pennsylvania. It came with video of a LIVE BREAKING report.
Greg played it and saw aerial footage of a wooded area, a river, the camera tightening on activity around a cabin, search teams and dogs in the forests, police boats, divers in the water while a reporter said...
“...they began yesterday. This morning is the second day of probing this corner of Elk Creek. Again, we stress this is unconfirmed, but we’re learning from a source that this operation is related to the case of Jennifer Griffin, who went missing from her Buffalo...”
Greg’s stomach twisted.